Before the Night Fell
by E. M. Morning
Summary: Before there is night there must be a day.


Before the Night Fell

Max used to have it all. A thriving business, a beautiful wife, two lovely children, a house of their own; everything a man could ask for. He worked hard for everything he had; taking every opportunity that passed by, stepping on whatever little person that got in his way. He put in hours upon hours of work until he got what he wanted for Max knew nothing is without labor. His life had been perfection, or at least as close to perfection as a human could get. Of course, that is only a once upon a time now. In the eighty years that have passed since he began his immortal life Max found that he has little to show; a two-bit video rental store in the god-forsaken garbage bin that is known as Santa Carla and a replacement family of ungrateful, disrespecting teenagers. Oh how the mighty have fallen!

What happened to the once beautiful family that he once held? Why, they are long gone by now. Dead; each and every one of them are now nothing more than a pile of bones in the ground. Max still remembers them, his first family. During random moments of the day they will come back to him, haunting his mind. He can still see their faces, hear their voices, though they are much more distant now as it begins to fade with the rest of their memories.

Marjorie had been his wife's name. She was a tall, skinny woman with large cobalt blue eyes that were nearly too large for her thin face. When she grew anxious or frustrated, which was quite often, they would grow even larger until they looked as if they would bulge right out of her sockets. She was a beauty, though; naturally perfect, and this was the main reason Max had married her. Shallow? Yes, but being so young when they courted, he did not think anything was much more important that appearance. A pretty wife will get him places. It represents status for only a poor man would dare be spotted in public with a plain wife. Marjorie was defiantly a knock out, but there was nothing inside that pretty little head of hers. Aside from her radiant looks, she was a rather dull girl. She was perfectly happy filling her time with menial tasks; cooking, cleaning sewing and she had little interest in anything that required too much thinking. But Marjorie wanted to be smart. She sure did! She tried to keep up with current events, made many attempts at reading more complicated novels; always pushing herself so that she may be less of an embarrassment to her husband.

_Darling, do you think I'm smart?_

_Of course I do._

_Do you really?_

_I said so. Did I not?_

Max never meant it, though. He knew that, and it was likely that Marjorie did as well. But he had to lie- she was his wife after all- and admitting that she was not the brightest crayon in the box would not make his life any easier. It would defiantly upset her too, for it was not hard to upset Marjorie. She was an over emotional girl, a trait that Max had first found endearing but soon grew tired of it as time went on. Always fretting about something, that girl. The house was never clean enough, not modern enough.

_What would the neighbors say if they saw how prehistoric we live? All of this money and we look like we are living in a poor house; such an embarrassment! _

She was always frantic about her children as well, especially their young daughter. Marjorie kept her daughter close by and always made sure that someone was watching the small girl. This world is not safe for young ones, she would say time and again.

_Always keep an eye on dear Suzette! Two if you can! The world is not meant for a child as special as her!_

For once Marjorie was correct in all of her paranoid thoughts.

Their first born had been a boy named Charles, Charlie to his mother and sister. Much to Max's delight, he had inherited his father's sharp business intuition and imagination. Charles was always coming up with new contraptions, locking himself up in his room as he obsessed over blueprints and mechanics. But much to Max's disappointment, his son lacked the motivation to follow through with anything and most of his projects remained an unfinished mess. As soon as a new idea would pop into his head, everything else would be set aside, complete or not, and he would dedicate all of his time and focus to his newest interest. This proved to be the fatal flaw that would start the unraveling of his well off family.

Max had a daughter too, Suzette, who was born ten years after her brother. Originally he had decided that they would only have one child; there was no need for another after they had received an heir on the first try. But as Charles grew older and less dependent on his mother, Marjorie began to long for another baby. Oh how she wanted a second child! She spent days pleading to Max, begging until tears welled up in those wide, unnerving eyes of hers until her husband finally gave in. He was not pleased with the outcome at time for they had been complications with Charles' birth and miscarriages in the following years, but if would silence the woman Max would agree. It was her own fault if she suffered more heartbreak! Luckily there were little complications with the birth of their daughter, and for once listening to Marjorie was something he did not regret.

Dear Suzette! Precious Suzette! Max remembers her more than the others for he could never forget his best lil' gal! There was no creature more beautiful than Suzette, not girl sweeter or kinder than his little girl. He can still see her, the young girl dressed in the frilly dresses that her mother insisted she must wear if their daughter was to grow into a proper young lady, her pale blond curls framing her doll-like face, her tiny rosebud lips that were often stained with the remainders of some sort of sweet. Suzette would often visit Max in his home office. She came in, sneaking- no one was allowed to set foot in Daddy's office when Daddy is working!- with her favorite doll, a ragdoll her mother had deemed as dreadful as it was soiled after years of play and loving, tucked under one of her thin arms as she kept two fingers from the free hand in her mouth, quietly sucking as she walked about the room. Her eyes, a perfect match to Marjorie's, would widen with curiosity as she stood on her toes, trying to get a better look at whatever her father had laid out on the desk in his office.

_What is that, Daddy? What do those words say?_

Such a smart girl! Always so filled with curiosity, always looking for something new to learn. She was heading for better things, Max knew. His daughter would be more than her housewife of a mother and better off than her half-wit brother. If there were to be anyone to bring pride to the family it would have been Suzette.

_Dad-dy, draw me another picture. Please? A kitty; one like Sister Socks? Please, Daddy?_

Suzette had loved the winter. She loved it more than the sweet summer sunshine, more than the colorful days of autumn. One of her favorite parts of winter was going to bed with the world being completely bare and waking up to find it had been covered with a fresh blanket of glittering snow.

_It's magic, Daddy. _

The girl would run out into the icy wonderland dressed in her winter clothing, scooping up as much snow as her small arms could load and toss it in the air, letting it get caught up in her curls. Everything around her was white and clean. It was pure innocence, real magic.

There were some days when Max had no work to do, wonderful days when the family was able to go out to the pond that was located not too far from their house for some ice-skating. These are the moments Max can still vividly remember; the chilly winter air nipping at their faces as they glided across the slick surface, the weight of his daughter's tiny mitted hand tightly grasping onto his, how those blue eyes of hers would disappear as she giggled and squealed with pleasure, her laughter filling the air like tiny a thousand tiny jingle bells. So much fun! Such fond memories! If there was ever such a thing as heaven, Max knew it was in that moment in the face of his little girl.

Sometimes, which was most of the time, Max was too busy for skating and other family activities. This was disappointing to Suzette. She loved her Daddy so! But he was always so busy, and she was so lonely without him. Mummy did not approve of games, at least not any fun ones, and Charlie was too busy with his working "'ventions", to play with her. Suzette would always ask her daddy to play, though, even if he did look busy.

_Daddy, please come skate with me. I want to go skating. Please, Dad-dy? Please?_

Max had told her no. The pond was not hard enough for skating that day. She would fall into the cold water, and Suzette did not know how to swim yet. This did not bother the child. She still protested.

_But, Dad-dy, I want to skate! I want to go outside and play! It is so boring in here I don't want to watch Mummy in the kitchen; I want to go outside!_

Eventually Max gave in. Suzette was allowed to go outside as long as she had big brother Charlie there to watch her. It took some convincing and a bit of threatening on Max's part, but Charlie agreed to take his sister outdoors for a couple of minutes. Max had warned him to keep an eye on his sister, not to let her out of his sight and to stay away from that pond. Charlie had nodded, saying he would as the tiny girl pulled him out the door.

_Com' on, Charlie! Let's go!_

But Charlie did leave his sister. It was only a moment, just a few minutes so that he may finish up on something he had been working on. He had left Suzette while she was making snow angels, entering through the back door of the house so that his father would not notice that he had left his post. It did not take long for Charlie to finish his task. He quickly returned to where he had left his sister lying in the snow, but by the time she had got there the girl was gone, completely vanished. The only thing left of Suzette was an imprint of her tiny body in the snow and a trail of tiny footprints.

Max never expected his daughter to die. He never dreamed of it, and the thought most certainly had never crossed his mind, for children are not supposed to die before the parents. It is unnatural! It is unimaginable! Impossible for any parent to believe! But there he was, in the snow kneeling with his daughter's cold, wet body. She had snuck off while Charles- that incompetent, foolish boy! - had went back to the house. She went straight to the pond so that she may skate. Suzette had barely made it a couple of feet when the ice had given out. She fell right through the slick surface and was sucked down into the freezing depths.

He ran as soon as heard the news. There was so much commotion, so much panic! Max paid no attention to it; his only focus was getting to his little girl. He was the first to arrive at the pond, even before all of the rushing servants, pushing past his screaming son. Such a fool just standing there and doing nothing! It was Max who dove into the icy waters, still dressed in his business clothes, and fished his frozen little daughter out of the pond. He knew that she was the dead the moment he held her. The tip of her nose was too stiff to be only frozen by the cruelty of winter. He carried her back to lad, refusing anyone to touch her. She was his child. His! His beautiful daughter, his bright and charming girl, his best lil' gal; dead! Suzette is dead! Gone! He could see it in those blue eyes, so wide and empty. Max almost laughed at the sight of them. Surely this was not his daughter. Suzette would never have such blank and staring eyes. Hers were always so full of emotion, so filled with life! But it was Suzette; the same blond curls that would ruffle against when she hugged him, the tiny hands he had once held, the same tiny doll-like face that he kissed goodnight. They were all a part of Suzette. This was indeed his daughter, who was now dead at the age of five.

Max could have screamed if he had the energy to do so. He would have released the animal cry that was caught up in his throat, lashing at the sky to rip open the Heavens and pull that ever-loving bastard that stole away his daughter. But he did not. Max sat there in snow cradling his best lil' gal's frozen body, waiting for the world to end.

It did not take long for Marjorie to go next. With her little girl gone, she found very little to live for. Not for her son and not for her husband. Without Suzette there was no hope, no one to keep her company and actually listen to her, no one to tell her that she was smart and actually mean it. Without Suzette there was no life. She at first she only refused to get out of bed. She would not even try knitting, one of her favorite things to do and which was quite talented at. There would be no one to knit for now, so what was the point? Marjorie also gave up eating. She had no interest in anything besides being reunited with her child. And that is how she would do it; she would let her body shut down, then the Lord would take her and she would once again be with her Suzette. Marjorie did not want to kill herself, though. That would be a sin! Max told her that allowing herself to starve was still a form of suicide, a much slower and more painful form. She would hear none of it. Marjorie would not listen. Her mind was set. She was going to see her daughter, and she did so on a Tuesday afternoon in the early spring.

Max blamed his son for all of this. It really was Charles' fault after all. If he had done what he was told for once then Suzette would not have died. If Suzette did not die then Marjorie would also have lived instead of sinking into madness. If both of them had lived then Max would still have his family, all that he ever worked for, the most important thing to a man. It was gone all thanks to his half-wit son. Of course Max did not admit his hate filled thoughts to anyone, especially not to Charlie. When he asked, Max would deny it. As foolish as he was, Charles was still only fifteen, much too young to carry such the burden of knowing he helped play a part in his family's downfall, and Max tried his best to prevent him from doing so. He was still his father after all, a good one. He still cared for his son even with the uncontrollable anger he felt towards the boy. So when Charles would ask if his father blamed him, Max would always deny.

_No. No, son. It was an accident. It was not done on purpose. You must not blame yourself. _

But Charles did, and he knew that everyone else blamed him as well, especially his father. It was all written in the man's eyes; his anger and blame. His father hated him, and Charles knew it. He could not blame him either for Charles hated himself as well. He had taken to guilt as well as the bottle. Before he was thirty Charles had managed to turn himself into quite the mess; a raving drunk who had gambled away the rest of his family's fortune in half baked business ideas and card games. Max was long gone by then. The house had declared Max's sudden disappearance a suicide, apparently no longer able to deal with the loss of his beautiful wife and young daughter.

Max was gone but he was certainly not dead. He had indeed rid himself of his old life, his useless, tattered life as a mortal and traded it for an immortal one where he no longer had to fear death lurking around the corner. He could finally piece together the life he had always wanted. Max would have his family and his business again; it was only a manner of timing. Timing was everything for he did not want to mess it up again. He had to be careful with who he allowed in; better not risk the chance of taking in another disappointment! His first recruit was a street urchin named David. He was a smart-ass, but clearly had some level of intelligence and self control.

The two of the, Max and much to the despair of the new son, David, would return to Max's hometown on occasion to spy on his son. David did not enjoy these travels. It annoyed him how Max still wanted to look for his son- He gave up that life, he should just leave it already!- when David was not allowed to have any sort of contact, known to the others or not, with his family. Not that David minded staying away from his old family, all drunken fools who did not care what had come of him, but still it did not seem fair. It annoyed him further when he saw the focus of all of their extra traveling.

_Is that really your son? That idiot?_

_Yes._

_Jesus. I can see why you left._

But Max never really left, at least not completely. He continued to watch his son, just to peak in, only to see if he was still alive or not. Each time Max would become more disappointed, promising himself and David that it would be the last and he would no longer look for Charles again. But he always went back. He couldn't help it with paternal instinct and all. Max, no matter how much he cannot stand him, was still Charles' father, and he will always be curious to what his son is up to. So he would return home becoming more and more disappointed with each visit. When Charles was born Max had high hopes for him. He was the first born son; Daddy's lil' man, his pride and joy, heir to the family name following in his father's shoes with the possibility of going even further, right? No! No, of course not! He could have, though, if only it had been that simple. Charles could have made a decent life for himself if he was not daft as his mother, if he was not so god-damned stupid. He had been given every opportunity, every chance considering he came from a wealthy and well educated family to step right over all of those other boys and get ahead of the game. By one of Max's final visits Charles, being nearly forty years old, should have had a stable job, a house, a family of his own, everything Max had when he was that age. Hell, Max had more than that when he was nearly twice as young as Charles. And what did Charles have? Numerous empty bottles, a substantial amount of debt and nasty mess of sores that he inherited from some broad he bumped into at the bar. Daddy's pride and joy!

It was partly his fault, Max knew. As a father he should have been there for his son, to guide him through the tragic loss his mother and sister and keep him away from the evils of the bottle. It would most likely not have made a difference whether Max was there or not, which was something else he knew. Charles was as self destructive as his mother, a train wreck waiting to happen and he savored every moment of his misery. It was Charles self-inflicted fate to lose, and Max was not too interested in trying to stop it.

He had a new life now, a better one, an immortal one where he had all the time to work for what he desired, and not a second of that time could be spared for the lazy and simple minded. There was much work to be done and as Max knew nothing is without labor.

* * *

**Oh gosh! I can't believe I posted this; it is pretty darn near terrible! This was mostly an idea I wanted to get out and though it did not come out exactly how I wanted it to, at least it's out now. Hehe. Also, I wanted to write something about Max because I think he is awesome and needs more stories! I know I did not go into detail about him turning into a vampire. I mostly wanted to focus on his life before that- hence the title- but I may work on something related to that later. But I don't know! Maybe not because this is, em, pretty bad. Oh well. Thanks for reading, and feedback would be lovely! I am always up for constructive criticism since I am still new at writing and don't know what I'm doing. **

**Side note: I am finally going to watch The Thirst tonight with my brother. I'm quite excited, though he says I will probably not like it. I will watch it anyhow! **


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